


everybody loves clarke

by cresswell



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, everybody loves Clarke, magical berries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-01-26 04:46:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1675205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cresswell/pseuds/cresswell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke swallows against the sudden tension in her throat, shaking herself free of Bellamy's heavy gaze and remembering why she came here in the first place. "Bellamy, something's wrong with some of the guys."</p><p>Bellamy closes up the journal, busying himself with tying it shut and returning it to its proper space in his tent. "I know."</p>
            </blockquote>





	everybody loves clarke

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fic from clarke's point of view (still third person limited obviously, but usually i write from bellamy's point of view) and it was reeeeeally fun to write as her for once!  
> also, there is (part of) a quote from the book in here. points to you if you find it!

She's climbing up a tree when it starts.

Around her is a makeshift harness, just torn rags knotted together, and she's carefully climbing her way up the tall trunk of the tree. She wants to see if the trees are a good way to keep watch for Grounders. So far, the only problem she's found is that it's a pain in the ass to climb all the way up.

A twig snaps beneath her, and in the blink of an eye, she's got her gun aimed at the ground. But it's just Finn.

He gazes up at her, mouth agape. "How are you doing that?"

She looks to see what he means. When she had pulled out her gun, she had let go of her harness, instead leaning into it and gripping the trunk between her thighs. She grins ruefully down at him. "Strength. What's up?"

"I need to talk to you about something."

Clarke huffs out a sigh, not even trying to mask her irritation. "Can't it wait until later, Finn? I'm kind of busy."

"No. It's important."

"I've told you I don't want to talk about what happened," She says, hushing her voice in case anyone's close enough to hear. "I said I just wanted to pretend _nothing_ happened."

Finn sighs. "Clarke, just come down. I'm not leaving until you do."

She complies, seeing no other option, taking her sweet time dropping to the ground. The way down, she mutters under her breath about how such creepy behavior on the Ark would have him floated in a heartbeat.

"Okay, Finn. You got me down here. Now what do you- what?"

He's gripping her hand, dropping ungracefully to one knee. She's honestly confused; is he hurt? "Finn...?"

"Clarke Griffin," Finn says, chest puffed out. "Will you marry me?"

There's a beat of silence, and then Clarke is laughing, so loud that a flock of birds skitter out of their perches, chirping angrily down at her. She bends over, clutching her stomach, laughing to the point of hurting the muscles there. "I- oh my god, Finn!"

He's staring up at her, eyebrows furrowed in a mixture of hurt and confusion. "What?"

She stops, her breath hiccuping until all her laughter is gone. She straightens up, eyes widening. "Oh, God, were you serious?"

"Well, _yeah_ ," Finn says, like it's obvious, like she's stupid for questioning him. "We have an undeniable connection, Clarke. I know you feel it. I know you think about it all the time, like I do."

"And Raven?" Clarke says, deadpan.

Finn flaps his hand in the air, like he's impatient and she's wasting his time with something insubstantial. "Raven's Raven. But you're _Clarke_."

"What an astute observation."

"Clarke." He grips her arms, face earnest and too close, and if he notices the way she stiffens and tries to pull away, he doesn't show it. "Don't you see? Don't you see what we have?"

She manages to rip herself from his grasp, almost tripping over herself in her need to put as much distance between them as possible. She doesn't think he was trying to do anything wrong, but she was uncomfortable, and she doesn't want to be in any sort of position where she's in a forest alone with a boy who makes her uncomfortable.

His fingers scrabble after her, pulling at her shirt sleeve, and she screams despite herself. It makes more birds flutter away in fear, and as she runs she makes as much noise as possible in the desperate hope that someone will hear and come looking. She doesn't want to think Finn will do anything, but she can't be sure.

She lives with delinquents, after all.

She pulls out her gun, slamming the butt of it into Finn's chest, relieved when she hears an _oof_ of pain and a sound that must be him falling over. She keeps running, pushing her already sore muscles, gasping a small sound of relief when she sees the camp come into view.

Most of the girls are washing up in the lake and the boys are working on rationing or on watch, so Monty's the first one to spot her and he runs over in concern when he sees how freaked out she looks. "Clarke? What's happening? What's wrong?"

"I- it's Finn," she says, breathing heavily. It's embarrassing that running that short of a distance made her so out of breath, but she blames it on the fact that she was kept in a cell for a long time. "Something... he's not right?"

It comes out like a question, but Monty's mouth presses into a grim line anyway. Hand on his gun, he positions himself between Clarke and the opening of the gate she ran through. "Wait, Monty," she says, resting her hand on his elbow. "I- it's probably nothing. Things just got weird back there and I flipped out."

"Well," Monty says shortly, eyes narrowed. "If he freaked you out, that's enough for me."

Clarke stares at him like he's crazy- does he even know how to _shoot_ a gun?- and takes a step back. "Monty, really. It's nothing. Come help me in the dropship, okay?"

"No can do, Clarke," Monty says matter-of-factly. "I've got to do my duty."

"Your _duty_? What on earth-" 

She doesn't get to finish her thought, though, because then Finn is jogging up to them and Monty's face is contorting in anger. "Heard you were messing with Clarke, _Spacewalker_."

Clarke just stares. It's like some weird role reversal, except they're both acting like people she's never met before, all bravado and haughtiness and challenge. "Hey," she tries, stepping forward with an outstretched arm. "I don't think-"

"Not now, Clarke," Finn says, hardly even glancing at her, and her jaw drops. "I'm in the middle of something."

"Oh, for the love of God," Clarke snarls, and it's enough to get both boys looking at her in surprise. "What the hell is going on here? Did you guys get into the jobi nuts again?"

"Clarke," Finn says, clearly exasperated with her but trying not to show it, "forget Monty. You never answered my question."

"I think running away _was_ her answer," Monty sneers with a cruelty that doesn't fit his features at all, and just like that, Clarke is ignored again. She sighs angrily, yanking both their guns away from them, and stalks off. She'll leave them to have their testosterone battle as long as they leave her out of it.

She's putting the guns in their crate when there's a tap on her shoulder. It's Jasper, and she smiles. "Hey, Jas. What's up?"

He seems anxious, bouncing on the balls of his feet. It's like he has so much nervous energy that it's seeping out of him. "Have you seen Octavia?"

"No, I haven't," she replies, frowning.

"Good," he says, and then with an impulsivity that Clarke's never seen on him, he's grabbing her shoulders and leaning forward, his eyes closed and his lips puckered. Clarke barely has time to turn her head, and his lips meet her cheek instead of her mouth.

"Um," she says, her voice too high with her discomfort and slight fear. "Jasper? What are you doing?"

He frowns at her like she's got a third eye, his hands still planted firmly on her shoulders. "Kissing you."

"Okay, yeah," she says, averting her gaze as her face goes wildly pink. "But why?"

She even sounds panicked to her own ears, but Jasper doesn't seem to hear it- or if he does, he doesn't care. "Because I love you, Clarke," he says, like it should be obvious, like he's said it a million times before. "Don't you love me too?"

"Um," she says, and now she can't help her eyes being as wide as saucers. She realizes she's subconsciously leaned away from him, straining against where he holds her shoulders, and with a slight tug, she breaks free. "I- I have to go."

"Wait, I'll come-"

"No," she says, sharper than she means, and she softens it with "I mean, I have to go. To the bathroom. Bye?"

She turns on her heel and marches away, her face still horrifyingly hot. Monty and Finn now appear to be having a fistfight, except for neither of them are actually throwing punches. Her head throbs suddenly from the combination of confusion and surrealism, and she heads for the tent without thinking twice about it.

Bellamy is flipping through Lincoln's journal when she steps inside his tent, probably looking for more information on the Mountain Men, even though everyone in camp has combed through for things the others might not have seen. Clarke presses her hands to her forehead, feeling her pulse finally begin to slow. She feels safe and hidden in his tent, and under other circumstances, the realization would probably worry her. But right now, she's a little preoccupied.

"Princess," Bellamy says without looking up, and there's hardly any venom in it anymore. "Come look at this."

She approaches him hesitantly, unsure if he's going to hand the book to her or if she's supposed to just read on with him, but the book remains firmly on the table so she leans over his shoulder slightly to peer at the pages. His finger is pointing at a page with sketches of large, four-legged animals- _horses_ , Clarke realizes with a happy jolt- and on the page next to it, there's notes about what breeds of horses can be found where.

"Warmblood," she reads, half to herself, half to Bellamy. "Thoroughbred, Appaloosa, Clydesdale..."

"That one's my favorite," Bellamy says, and even though she can't see his mouth from this angle, it sounds like he's smiling. She looks where his finger is pointing, and the sketch there is of a thick, muscled grey horse with heavy-looking hair. "The Draft horse."

"Because they're useful?"

"No," he says, finally looking up at her. "Because they're strong."

Clarke swallows against the sudden tension in her throat, shaking herself free of Bellamy's heavy gaze and remembering why she came here in the first place. "Bellamy, something's wrong with some of the guys."

Bellamy closes up the journal, busying himself with tying it shut and returning it to its proper space in his tent. "I know."

This catches Clarke off-guard. "You know?"

"Well, yeah," he says, like it should be obvious. Clarke watches, fascinated, as he pokes around his tent as if he's almost forgotten she's there. "They're going about it all wrong."

"Going about what all wrong?"

He turns to her and looks at her with a gaze that makes her root herself to her spot. "Going about _you_ all wrong, of course."

Clarke feels her skin go cold, like an awful chill, and she shakes her head slowly. "I don't understand."

"It's you, Clarke," Bellamy says, a rueful grin spreading across his lips. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed. All they think about is you. All they want is you." He's standing now, approaching her slowly, and even though every muscle in her body is telling her to run, she holds her ground. His breath tickles her ear and she can't help the warm flutter in her stomach. "All I've ever wanted is you."

She just shakes her head again, not trusting her voice to work properly, and Bellamy chuckles against the top of her head. "Since day one on the ground, Princess," he says, his voice low and thick, his words slightly muffled by her hair. "It's been you and me."

"Bell- Bellamy," she tries, having to clear her throat and stutter. She tells herself to take a step back but her body doesn't listen; before she knows what's happening, her hands are resting against the back of his shirt. His skin is warm, almost feverish. "Not you too."

He starts to nose his way down the side of her face, his kisses feather-soft, which surprises her for some reason. Her throat makes a soft noise before she can tell it not to, and she feels him grin against her neck. "What are you talking about?"

"The other boys," she says, her eyelids fluttering when he bites down gently on her neck. "They all think they're in love with me. Not you, too. I can't have you losing it too. I need you to- to be okay."

"So much worrying," Bellamy chuckles, his chest rumbling where it's flush against her own, and he walks them backwards until his legs hit the edge of his makeshift bed. "I _am_ okay, Clarke. I'm more than okay."

The softness and intensity in his voice and face stop her in her tracks. She lets him sit down and pull her into his lap, and all the while she just gazes at him like she's never seen him before, blood rushing quickly to her cheeks.

"Beautiful princess," he murmurs, and then he is kissing her.

She responds almost instantaneously, her fingers winding themselves in his hair. He makes her heart slam against her chest like she's a racehorse, and every time his fingers move against her skin she shivers, soft sounds coming from her mouth. Bellamy falls onto his back and Clarke follows, her lips detaching from his for only a moment to wriggle her hands underneath his shirt. He understands and helps her pull it off him, and by the time he's tossing it aside, she's kissing him again.

Bellamy tastes like joy. He feels beautiful underneath her hands, harsh lines from hard work, and she smoothes her palms across his skin, biting down on his lip when he groans. He has his hand in her hair, and his other is teasing her bra clasp underneath her shirt, slow and lazy, like they've got all the time in the world. A secret part of her wishes she could do this forever.

The universe, it seems, is just not on her side today. The tent's flap brushes open and there's a flat "oh" from the opening. Clarke scrambles backwards, her hands flying under her shirt to close the clasp Bellamy had just unhooked. Bellamy looks completely unaffected, grinning softly at Clarke, and then widely at his sister.

Octavia stands with crossed arms and a poorly-hidden smirk, her skin sweaty from trekking through the woods. "I wish I could say _finally_ , but it seems the circumstances that lead to this are a little..." she trails off, struggling for the right word.

"What are you saying?" Clarke asks, still sitting across Bellamy's hips. He's moving his hands slowly up her thighs and she has to resist the urge to kiss him again. "Octavia, do you know what's wrong with them?"

"Yeah," she says, digging in her pocket for a moment. When she pulls out her hand again, there's several bright red berries in it. "These are the culprit."

Clarke has to stand up to walk over and examine the berries, and Bellamy huffs out a dramatic sigh. She picks one up between two fingers and holds it close to her face. "What do they do, exactly?"

"We were coming back from the lake when we stopped to pick some. Someone had brought some back a few days ago, and we thought they were some sort of raspberry or strawberry or something." She shrugs. "Anyway, Raven ate a handful and then tried to recite one of Shakespeare's old sonnets to me." She giggles, the action making her look young. "When I came back and saw Finn and Monty arm wrestling for your love, I figured something was up. There should be something in Lincoln's book about them," she adds, gesturing to where Bellamy left it.

Clarke leafs through the pages, stopping when she sees a drawing nearly identical to the berries in Octavia's palm. "'Creates delusions of love and attraction'," she reads. She closes the journal, her face burning, and hands it to Octavia. "Well. That explains it, then."

Octavia begins to laugh, but she quells it when she sees how blank Clarke's face is. "Hey. The way I see it, the berries just sped up the inevitable." She wiggles her eyebrows.

Clarke's brows furrow. "What, you mean Finn was going to propose to me anyway?"

This makes Octavia laugh for real, doubling over. It's such a good look for her usually stony face, and Clarke has to smile for a moment before remembering she's supposed to be slightly embarrassed and defensive. Octavia straightens, her eyes still crinkled. "The bastard really did that?"

"Yes," Clarke responds, quirking an eyebrow. "You might want to talk to Jasper too, while you're at it."

She can't help but laugh at the look on Octavia's face, watching as she walks out of the tent with an angry " _Jasper!_ "

"Going to finish what you started, Princess?"

She turns. Bellamy is splayed lazily on his back, his arms crossed beneath his head. His hair is beautifully wild and his lips are dark red and swollen and there's already a light bruise forming on his neck. He smiles lopsidedly at her and her heart starts panicking again, making her almost lightheaded with desire.

"I don't think I should-"

"Live a little," Bellamy rumbles, and Clarke feels her feet walking her back towards the bed. "Besides, if what Octavia said is true, the effects will probably be gone before tomorrow."

"You were listening to that?" Clarke asks, surprised, letting him pull her back onto his lap. When he nods, she averts her gaze, her voice dropping. "You'll still want me tomorrow?"

"Clarke," Bellamy says, faintly exasperated, and pulls her flush against him. This kiss is soft and light, their fingers knotted against the mattress, but it still leaves her breathless. His eyes are the color of the earth when he looks at her. "I'd be crazy not to."

The antagonist in Clarke whispers that it's just the berries talking, but she pushes the voice away. "Okay," she says, proud at how steady her voice sounds. "But just to sleep, alright? You need to sleep this off."

He makes a face at her, but drops it in favor of that unfamiliar soft smile again. "Okay," he says, sounding happy nonetheless, and pulls her down beside him. Next to each other and on their sides, they're eye-to-eye, an experience that is more intimate than one Clarke's ever had. "I love you."

Clarke lets out a laugh, her insides disentangling themselves from their nervous knot. "Of course you do, dumbass. Go to sleep."


End file.
